* * * * * At Battalion Headquarters, Winterbourne tried to read, and found it impossible. He discovered an old number of “The Spectator” with an article on Porson, written by a man he had known. He had to read the article before he remembered who Porson was, and found himself puzzling over quite ordinary sentences like a ploughman. He threw the paper down in despair, and got permission to go to an estaminet. They had no wine, and spirits were forbidden. He sat there drinking the infamous and harmless French beer, and droning out sentimental songs with the other Tommies. He got into the habit of bribing the Q.M.S.’s clerk to give him extra rum. Anything to forget. * * * * * At the end of one of his fortnightly periods at Battalion H.Q. Winterbourne went as usual to the R.S.M.: “Winterbourne, D Company Runner, returning for service in the line, Sir.” The R.S.M. turned over some papers, pursing up his lips: “Let me see, let me _seeee_. Yes, yes. Yes, yes. Here we are, 31819, Private Winterbourne, G. Yes. You’re returning to England on Friday for the purpose of proceeding to an Officer Cadet Corps. Report to the Orderly Room at four (pip emma) on Thursday for your papers, and draw iron rations from the Q.M.S. Will report to R.T.O. at Rail Head before eight (ack emma) on Friday, and will be struck off the strength. Got that?” “Yes, Sir. Will you give me a chit to show them in the line, please.” “No. To-day’s Wednesday. You’d better stay here, and I’ll send up the Runner who is taking your place.” “Very good, Sir.” The boy who was taking Winterbourne’s place was delighted to get the job. He was a quick-witted youth who had been trained as an Elementary School Teacher, and thanked Winterbourne as if the new job had been his gift. He was killed by a bullet as he climbed out of the communication trench with his first message. Winterbourne began to feel as if he had made a pact with the Devil, so that other men were always being killed in his stead. For the remaining two days he was virtually excused duty. He was allowed to go to the baths each day, and got himself clean and free from lice. He received absolutely new underclothes, not the worn, soiled garments full of dead lice usually issued at the baths, was given new puttees and trousers in place of his soiled torn ones, and handed in his rent leather jerkin. He had a sacking bed, and slept twelve hours a night. Already he was a different being from the dazed and haggard man of the Hill 91 days.